"Owls are not what they seem"

MOONLIGHT SONATA

I’m not the one to make my eyes melt into tears, while thinking about the past, but sometimes I sit back with a strong whiskey in my hand and remember those moments, that made my lips curl up in a smile. The drink burns my throat the same way my mind is burning ties to all the men I used to know. Or fuck.

Moonlight Sonata was always this one melody that made my eyes well up. In a happy way. Every time I listen to it, my whole body is flooded with an unexplainable inspiration, with an urge to write, create, do anything but ignore. Once in a while I’m reminded of this masterpiece (usually by accident), but it makes me smirk, remembering, how I learned to love it that much.

It was a long time ago. There was this boy, who fancied my green eyes, enough for him to stalk out little personal details about me just to please me. He was such a talented little fucker and his fingers created magic with the black and white keys of the piano. I was never the romantic type, but he managed to persuade me to stay on the phone with him for hours and hours one warm summer night, while I listened to him playing Moonlight Sonata on the loop.

It was magical. As were his fingers inside me the day after and his heart in my hand a while later. I was touched by his purity and devotion to please me, but he had to pay the price by watching his loving heart being shattered to pieces.

Quite good. That’s a prose poem right there, it just needs more cohesion and depth to why you reveal yourself as a heartbreaker (for lack of a better term). Don’t call him a fucker because it takes away the power of the other ‘fuck’ in the poem. lose ‘magical’ and ‘unfortunately’

Hey, look who’s here. Hi you. Well, thanks for the advice. I lost the “unfortunately”, but kept “magical”. Just really see that word fitting there. As for fucker and fuck, im not writing this as a piece of something worthy. It was plainly like a diary entry, something personal about me, what rarely happens in the virtual world. You know, me being all private and stuff.
Are you back to Australia or not yet? I guess that coffee wont happen huh.

Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is my fave piece of music ever, and I have those same inspired and smiling tears that well and fuel rather than fall when I hear it. Grace Potter and the Nocturnals and Halford run around in circles in 2nd place… about 100 miles back.

I resonantly enjoyed the ride through your story where you are no more at the mercy of your past than of old photo albums.

This prose is a sliver of a beautifully haunted memory brought up by the whiskey. It’s the best way to remember those gorgeous moments we’ve let pass us by. I feel for this younger green eyed you and this talented musician. Even though I know it will end in heartbreak, I relish those small moments with you two before it ends.

You know, most of my memories are evoked by whiskey. Or very strong coffee sometimes. I guess thats just how it is. And even though i feel sorry for the heartache of the musician, turn back time, id do it all over again.

Those are always the best ways to evoke memories. Late in the clutches of the dark and so early in the soft glow of the morning. Best time to reflect. And it is always a good thing to never regret the actions taken. Makes for an easier conscious during those reflections. I can’t say the same…

“I was touched by his purity and devotion to please me, but he had to pay the price by watching his loving heart being shattered to pieces….”
That…is…priceless…
Do me a favor please, Ms. Owl, and that is to never listen to anyone attempting to dish out advice on how you should write…never…

Well… I dont mind when people give me advice of how to write. Especially when the advice is something i agree with 🙂
But thanks for saying that to me. Makes me smile every time when i read your praise 🙂